Carloszorro: Ah! I'm so sorry for all the bad emotions. I wish I could say things get better soon, but there's still a ways to go. Recovery doesn't happen in a day and they're in the middle of all out war.

Damienne: Oh yeah, Peeta's leg definitely had an expiration date and it definitely passed. As for Team Gale, you make some remarkably great points. All thoughts I have had and will be addressed, but I cannot say anymore! I'm glad it was a good kind of sad feeling you had. I too was destroyed after finishing Mockingjay. But I can't say what the reaction will be to my ending (I'm so nervous!). I look forward to your thoughts! As for any sequels to this story I don't think there will be. The ending is pretty definitive and really they've all been through so much. A one-shot is more of a possibility, but also unlikely for the time being. Once I conclude this story I will be trying my hand in a different universe all together I think. As for Darius, he was sent back to the Capitol to be dealt with. They don't execute their own though.

Ir1208: And look at you, the exact flip side of the coin on the whole who should Peeta end up with question. You also make some amazing points! I so see what you're saying and think we can both agree that even if Snow loses the war, if Peeta and Cato break up he would feel a deep sense of satisfaction. He's just evil like that and takes what he can get, even the pettiest of stuff. Thanks for taking the time to leave me a review! I love all the persuasive thoughts you have on their relationship! Some type of resolution awaits in chapter 25.

Annabanana: Thanks for the gracious words. I just live to hear that I'm able to create a story and characters that are emotionally resonant with the reader. If you don't feel something while you read then what's the point? I do hope to one day be a professional writer of some sort so thank you, thank you for the encouragement!

EcuaEcua: Hey! I see ya followed me over from AO3. I sometimes forget to post updates on there so I'm glad you made it here for the final countdown. The rebels didn't really care enough to rescue Gale, but if you noticed in ch. 20 Peeta thought he saw Gale (and he really did). The carnivorous insects devoured the mutts just like he thought and also attacked him, but the section ended just in time to save his life. Gale then made it back to the clearing as the bombs went off and was taken aboard the hovercraft with everyone else. And I know it may feel like Cato gave up Peeta with out a fight and that's kind of exactly what's happened. Cato's very hurt and dealing with some difficult emotions. It's going to take him a while to figure out what he wants to do.

Daleyyy: Welcome! I'm super flattered you signed up just because of this story! You should make sure to favorite it so it is saved to your profile. And your reaction is not sad! I love it and your passion for Cato and Peeta.

Cupcakesprinkles: I know, five. FIVE. And now four counting this. I can barely believe it. What are we gonna do!? Well here's another dose for you!

JacksontheGreat: Well as always you are too kind with your words. I wish I could let you hug Cato, but sadly your imagination will have to suffice for that. It's funny how you're rooting for Cato now and loved Gale more in Blood Games, but what can I say? Sometimes a character just resonates with you more in one story than the other!

This is a long chapter and I'm going to say right here, right now its one of my top three favorites. I hope you enjoy it! It's a massive one.

Ch. 22- Salvage the Wreckage

Wandering down the fluorescent-lit hallways of District Thirteen was like winding his way through a maze. Each hallway looked the same as the last. Peeta was lost. No one seemed to be around to direct him in the appropriate direction. He was late. For what, he couldn't remember.

Picking up the pace, Peeta began to run down the hallway. Where was everybody? Left, right, Peeta turned at random and still nothing revealed itself to him. No one appeared to help guide him. He was abandoned. Just the same endless stretches of white paneled walls. Anxiety began to coil in his chest. He brought his right hand to his left pectoral muscle and rubbed. He felt just under the skin a protrusion, smooth and hard like a polished pebble. He felt sick. He clawed at it through the material of his thin black v-neck. Ripping through the cotton material his nails sliced into his skin, digging numbly into the flesh and parting it. Blood trickled down his chest. Big crimson blotches fell and splattered across the white tile floor like a bloody Rorschach. Peeta pushed a digit in through his warm wet skin, scraping around, searching for the intruder, pushing deeper through muscle and fat.

A pair of eyes reflected in the surface of the pool of blood by his feet, staring at him; casting harsh judgment. Peeta saw it and gasped, he had to escape those familiar young dark blue eyes. The ones he had watched the life leech from. His first kill. Peeta dashed down the hallway, weaving an unfamiliar path, his heart hammering against his chest, pushing more blood out the hole he'd made, whatever he'd been looking for lost between the muscles and bone. Turning a corner Peeta stumbled and fell face first to the ground. He tried to stand but found he couldn't, he just tipped over to the left. Looking down he gasped.

My leg.

His left leg was gone. All that remained was a scarred stump, like the hacked off base of a tree trunk. His flesh was sewed together at the end and a raw red like freshly butchered meat. The sound of footsteps, even paced against the tile, approached behind him. He turned and looked up expecting help. He held out his hand only to feel the blood drain from his face.

Beetee towered over him with a look of superiority planted on his round face, his brown skin pale and ghastly.

"You're a killer at heart."

His lips didn't move. But it was Beetee's voice. Bloody patches welled across the surface of his shirt, his eyes a dead foggy grey.

"A murderer. You will destroy them all."

"No, no please, you have to know I didn't mean to—I wasn't in control!" Peeta gasped from the floor. He tried to move towards Beetee, to make him understand, but the floor around him was flooded with blood.

"See all the blood you've spilt?"

Peeta turned his back to him. He couldn't take it. He couldn't hear anymore. He tried to escape down the other end of the hall. He dragged his body across the floor. It slid wildly with the copious amounts of blood. Someone approached from the opposing side of the hallway. He practically glowed white and Peeta had to shield his eyes. The sickly sweet smell of roses pierced through the tang of blood.

"You will help the Capitol complete it's goal, willfully or not." Snow's voice was like ice. Peeta wished to run. The stump of his left leg throbbed sharply and he bit back a cry of pain. "It's inside you, you're a killer and you can't deny it."

Snow tipped his head back and laughed maniacally. A gash suddenly and meticulously slit open across the surface of his pale throat exposing cartilage and bone, blood pouring out and running down the front of his white suit. He continued to laugh as he gurgled and choked on the blood. It sparked out of his slashed throat like fireworks. Peeta screamed in abject horror. Then everything ripped apart in a blazing orange explosion…

"They thought they could sentence us to public execution in the Arena, but it didn't work. They thought they could kill us with muttations and bombs, they couldn't. We, the past victors of the Hunger Games, survived, escaped. The Mockingjay lives. I am alive and so is District Thirteen. You cannot defeat our will—" Peeta stalled midsentence and looked up from the teleprompter. "I'm sorry. I can't do this."

"Cut!" Fulvia shouted from behind the bug-like camera pods, rushing around to intercept Peeta as he tried to move off the green screen stage. His thoughts were still on last night's nightmare.

"Peeta, my boy! What's wrong?" Plutarch Heavensbee asked, pushing past his assistant to clamp a pudgy hand on Peeta's shoulder. Fulvia furiously notated things on the clipboard in her hand next to her boss. Peeta could tell they were growing exasperated with his behavior. "We've been at this for over an hour now."

"I'm sorry it's just… it's not me." Peeta tried for an apologetic tone, but even he was growing aggravated. An hour had gone by of trying to film these propos and none of them had gone well. It was beyond frustrating. Peeta thought Effie Trinket would have been a preferable coach to them, but who knew what was happening to her back at the Capitol. It wasn't something he wanted to dwell on.

It had been one week now since Peeta left the hospital and there wasn't a moment to himself, too adjust to everything. It had been constant meetings and trainings and somebody always wanting something from him. The propos were the worst though. Fulvia had thought of them to combat the constant output of ones made by the Capitol. They had managed to get one good one from some crafty editing of many takes the other day, which they blasted out to the Districts. Otherwise it was a pointless endeavor.

"Well help us try to make it you," Boggs said with the hint of an edge, marching out from the shadows, not even trying to hide the annoyance on his face. He was here as a representative for President Coin and had the least patience for all of this.

"You wouldn't like that."

Peeta stared down Boggs, unflinching, ignoring how he still felt unsteady on his new prosthetic leg. He wasn't going to become a puppet for this man or anyone else. He may be the Mockingjay, but that was a mantle he carried. The people, not Plutarch or President Coin, gave it to him. He got to decide how it worked and this was very much not it.

"And why is that?" Boggs challenged.

"You really want to know?" Peeta's chest expanded with air.

"Okay, okay, back off Boggs," Haymitch moved in to smooth things over, stepping between the two of them. He was working to adjust to everything as much as Peeta was. With strict laws on no production of alcohol or any mind-altering substances in District Thirteen he was truly being forced into sobriety. Peeta had been angry with him at first for keeping secret his involvement with the rebellion, but he couldn't fault him for long. He understood the costs of it all now. They had both reached an understanding. "Let's take a break and do this another time."

"Yes, we might as well." Plutarch spoke grandly. "We have that meeting that starts in a few. I should get there early to prep. Alma might need my insights. The Capitol's perspective if you will."

Plutarch then bustled out the door with Fulvia. Boggs remained standing before Haymitch and Peeta, arms crossed over his broad chest, his lips puckered in distaste.

"I'll have to report to President Coin your uncooperativeness."

"Be my guest."

Peeta motioned a hand out in front of him towards the door, urging him to go on. Boggs surveyed Peeta coolly before marching out. Haymitch suppressed a grin.

"You need to at least pretend like ya want to help them."

Rolling his eyes Peeta shrugged.

"I don't particularly like them."

"Neither do I, but they're what we're stuck with. And besides, we wont win this war with out them."

They left the makeshift sound stage and headed towards a bank of elevators at the end of the corridor. District Thirteen personnel busied about up and down the hallways, working to complete unknown tasks. Peeta noticed that most of them were not particularly healthy looking. Haymitch had filled him in a few days ago about how the Capitol worked tirelessly to kill them. Disease, starvation, sabotage, but they were a tough people and made it through, although not with out a cost to their health and population size.

At the elevators Peeta studied his left leg. He was wearing black trousers and if one didn't know him they would have no idea that he only had one leg. If he looked at himself objectively he could even forget the mechanical device that worked in place of his flesh and bone.

"Enough of that." Haymitch slapped a hand on Peeta's back and he jolted a step forward. "No use moping about it. It'll only drive ya crazy. And I know a lot about crazy."

"I know…" Heaving a sigh Peeta entered the elevator and pressed the button for thirteen. "It's just an adjustment. Like everything else right now."

Standing to his right Haymitch eyed him from the corner of his eye. He wiped a hand under his hooked nose and shook his head, flinging his hair back out of his face. The elevator shuddered and Peeta felt his stomach drop as it delved deeper into the earth.

"Do—" Haymitch cleared his throat, scratching at the stubble on his neck. "Do you want to talk about it? Cato, I mean."

"I don't know what there is to talk about. It's over. I fucked it up." Peeta leaned back against the elevator wall.

"Pfft. And when hasn't someone fucked something up at one time or another?" Haymitch turned to face Peeta. He was having none of it. "Life ain't easy kid. You know that more than anyone." They shared a knowing look. "So what made you think relationships were any easier?"

The elevator slowed and the doors slid open onto the thirteenth floor. Men and women in army uniforms hurried about in all directions. To there right visible through floor-to-ceiling glass was a massive control room with computers, televisions and holograms all running while people worked on them. At the end of the long hall ahead were doors marked for different training rooms where the academy trained new soldiers. A buzz of noise hit his ears as they stepped out and moved to the left where the conference room they had been having their daily war meetings was.

Haymitch took the lead and Peeta chewed over his words. Maybe he should try to speak with Cato. Since leaving the hospital the only time Peeta had even interacted with him was at these daily meetings and even then he couldn't quite label that as an 'interaction.' Not when Cato spent the whole time trying to ignore his presence and only when forced by the conversation would he speak directly to Peeta, his eyes never holding Peeta's for more than a second. Peeta privately mourned the loss of his relationship every night. He'd finger the ring he still wore while curled up in bed until sleep took him. Gale continued to try and talk to him, but Peeta had successfully managed to dodge him so far. He didn't know what he wanted anymore. But he wasn't ready to face what he felt for Gale, not when he was still piecing together what it meant to lose Cato. He knew both men were the most important people in his life and he didn't know how to reconcile one with the other. And really, he didn't have time for it. Not when everyone seemed to want something from him and war was raging.

Haymitch and Peeta took seats next to each other at the large oval conference table. It was a brushed steel, but smooth to the touch. Peeta spent more time studying the intricacies of the metal tabletop than he did listening to the political arguing of President Coin and Plutarch Heavensbee.

Speaking of, President Coin stood off to the side trying her best to remain patient as Plutarch bloviated about something she seemed to care very little about. He was always yammering about something Peeta noticed. He held himself in very high esteem, and while yes he was instrumental in the war, he was not the President, which Coin had to remind him on one extremely uncomfortable occasion. Since then he had been more deferential to her, but still plowed on with his belief that he was the single most important instrument in ending this war.

Which Peeta was happy to let him believe, because otherwise President Coin and her lackeys were hounding him to do more. Except whenever he tossed out the suggestion of entering the war and leading the fight, they froze up. And he knew that would never happen, but he just liked ruffling their feathers, it was the only time he got a little entertainment in during his typically bleak days, just counting down the hours until it was time to finally act.

There was a beep and then everyone took their seats—Cato at the far opposing end of the table with Lyme. Various other key military assets were spaced between them.

"Mr. Heavensbee, how are the repairs coming to the hovercraft? Will it be battle ready soon?" President Coin began, perched in her seat at the top of the oval with a sharp posture and evenly folded hands resting over her stack of manila folders. Her grey hair hung stiff and straight to her shoulders.

Plutarch straightened in his seat and shuffled through papers somewhat haphazardly.

"Well I'm no mechanic really…" Plutarch muttered, sifting through more folders.

"That is apparent." Coin deadpanned. It threw Plutarch off and his face hardened for a fraction of a second before dispensing back to his pleasantly bland smile. Flavius handed him a piece of paper. He masked his gratitude.

"Ah, yes. Here's the report from yesterday. All engines should be fully operational in the next few days making it flight ready. They report severe infrastructural damage to the escape pod bay—"

"That is of no necessity, we need it to be able to fight, not capable of being abandoned."

"Uh, yes—right. Well besides that the only foreseeable obstacle remains repairing the shields. It's an upgraded tech they're unfamiliar with."

"We need that ship, Mr. Heavensbee. It's the only of its kind we have and may be one of the most valuable asset you brought us." President Coin leaned forward, her colorless grey eyes harsh and unforgiving. Her look could bend steel to her will.

"Excuse me, mam," Haymitch interjected. "But I was under the impression that our Mockingjay was the most valuable asset we acquired."

Cold eyes swept over Peeta—his stomach flipped—before turning on Haymitch. Peeta sank back in his chair.

"I do not remember calling on you, Mr. Haymitch." She held eye contact for a second longer then turned to her immediate right satisfied Haymitch had been reprimanded for his insubordination. Peeta bristled at her audacity. "Boggs, I hear you have a report from the field?"

"Yes, mam."

"Then please share."

Images flickered to life from the hologram in the center of the table. More battle scenes. Peeta had seen this often in the past few days—images from all over war-torn Panem—but this place he recognized instantly. It was District Two.

"We have encountered quite the fierce resistance here in our forward march to the Capitol. I think it'd be best to let Commander Paylor share in her own words."

The holographic image switched to one of a middle aged woman, no older than thirty-five. Her hair was cropped short and her bronze face all business-like, but Peeta could tell there was beauty in there she worked to keep hidden.

"Hello President Coin. Council." The hologram of the woman bowed her head. "I'll just launch right in. The Capitol's forces have dug in their heals within the Nut. It's their main base of operation and power and we can't figure out how to breach it. Our forces have sustained heavy losses with each mission. I've suspended all further attacks until we can plot an appropriate course of action that mitigates the high level of casualties we're sustaining. But it hasn't ended there. Their leader has been utilizing increasingly innovative and reprehensible tactics. Just last night a young injured child was found by one of our units and picked up for medical treatment. The child was wearing some type of vest with remote explosives that were detonated. We lost fourteen men and eight others seriously injured. We've had to cease offering medical attention to all civilians."

Flavius and Plutarch whispered to themselves over something in the background heatedly while Paylor spoke, though Peeta's eyes were glued to Cato. He remained un-emotive. What type of cruel person was behind such repugnant tactics Peeta wondered angrily? Using children as weapons in war? That was too sickening a thought to comprehend.

"And who is the man commanding the Capitol forces there?" Coin asked.

"His name is Dreg. He is the Mayor's son from the District, he trained at the academy here and appears to live for carnage and chaos." Paylor said, obvious notes of disgust in her voice. She seemed a woman of principle caught in an increasingly unprincipled war.

Both Peeta and Cato made eye contact at Dreg's name. It was like a shot of adrenaline to the heart. Every sense of Peeta's focused. Dreg. Of course he would be leading the forces there. He had turned the whole of the District against Cato and labeled Peeta a traitor long before an uprising started. Peeta didn't doubt his brutal instincts would make him a fearsome leader.

"We know the young man," Lyme spoke up and leaned forward with both elbows on the table. "He is charismatic and vicious. All he's ever wanted was the chance to be victor of the Hunger Games. I assume now that he's lost that chance he's taken up the cause as a way to execute his most sadistic tendencies."

"And how would you suggest we deal with him?" Coin asked.

"Destroy the Nut." Cato suddenly offered up. All eyes turned to him in surprise.

He has to be kidding, Peeta thought.

"If we can't get them to fight us and we can't make them surrender we wipe them out." The severe look on Cato's face meant he definitely wasn't joking. Peeta felt his mouth fall open in shock. "Dreg wont stop. You will only continue to lose men. Blow the fucking thing up. The Capitol will lose a huge supply reserve and we will be that much closer to overthrowing them."

"That's barbaric!" Peeta interjected. "We can't stoop to their level otherwise what makes us better than them? What makes us worthy of leading the rebellion?"

"Sometimes you have to do something terrible to stop something terrible," Cato threw back.

"And it may be our only course of action." Coin said, sitting back in her chair, her fingers tapping the table as she thought. Peeta couldn't believe she was seriously considering such plans. Killing all those people, even if they were fighting for the Capitol, would make them no better than the oppressors they fought. There had to be principles, something greater they fought for, but no one bothered to listen to him. Or no one wanted to hear it.

After Cato's merciless suggestion he ceased to speak. He seemed to recede further into his mind, knuckles tensing at every mention of Dreg's name or his home District as Coin debated with her staff the merits of the plan. Peeta noticed Cato's knuckles were bruised. On closer analysis Peeta realized that Cato had bulked back up from when he first saw him at the beginning of the Quarter Quell when he'd slimmed down from his imprisonment. Thankfully for Cato's sanity the meeting came to a close. Unfortunately they come to the agreement to destroy the Nut. Peeta was more than disgusted. Cato pushed away from the table quickly and stormed out into the hall. Peeta coiled in on himself before deciding he could know longer wait. He had to speak with Cato.

Out in the hallway Peeta looked left and right for Cato. He spotted him almost to the elevator bank.

"Wait," Peeta called out. He knew Cato heard him by the tensing of muscles in his back, but he ignored Peeta and pressed the button to call an elevator.

Peeta reached him just as the doors opened.

"Will you please talk to me?"

Cato walked into the elevator and turned to face him with a cool expression. Peeta searched his chocolate eyes, but found all emotion turned off towards him.

"We've already done this."

"Yes, but not really. That was all heated in the moment stuff. We need to talk, really talk. That can't be how we end things."

Peeta put a foot forward in between the elevator doors to hold it open. His eyebrows screwed up, pleading at Cato. His face remained smooth and unconvinced and devastatingly handsome, his stare fixated somewhere over Peeta's left shoulder. Peeta felt a flutter in his stomach he hadn't felt in a long time with Cato. It was like he was just trying to get to know him. Peeta wanted to know him desperately, but he feared what he might discover.

"I really just want nothing to do with you, is that so hard to believe?"

"I…" Peeta floundered. Could he really feel that way after everything they'd been through? Could he just cut Peeta out of his life like that with out another thought? It was so careless. It was beyond hurtful; it was devastating. "You can't really want that."

Cold brown eyes finally met Peeta's and he retracted his foot from between the elevator doors.

"But I do."

"It can't just—we can't just end like this," Peeta beseeched. "You pushed me away once before, but I wont let you do it again. I know I made mistakes, but it can't all be on me. We were to get married!"

Suddenly Cato came forward and a fist slammed into the metal siding of the elevator as he snarled at Peeta. Peeta jumped back, frightened. He'd never felt so scared of Cato. This was more than just the act he put on to appease his father and the Careers in the first Hunger Games; this was real. It's how he could reconcile the bombing of the Nut with his conscience.

"You think I care about any of that? The more I look back on it the more our proposal just looks like two idiots not knowing when to call it quits and desperately clinging on to the idea of their love." Cato lashed out. He spoke through a clenched jaw and veins bulged out from his neck, pulsing rapidly with the beat of his heart. "My whole family's dead. If you think I care about what you think, if you think I care about us, this—" Cato waved a hand between them violently, "Fucked up, parasitic relationship, then you're dead wrong. I never even got to say goodbye to Cassy. That mob, the one riled up by Dreg because I threw my lot in with you, tore me away from her. You stole my goodbye. So you don't get to say anything."

The seething rage contorted Cato's face into an ugly mask of hate that Peeta could barely stand to look at. Cassy was dead? Parasitic? It was like being hit with a wrecking ball, everything obliterated inside him, disintegrated to nothing but dust. Cato panted in exertion like he'd just run a marathon and then he fell backwards against the back of the elevator, everything drained from him. Maybe he realized he'd gone too far, but the damage was done. Somewhere, deep inside, he'd convinced himself they were toxic together.

"Sometimes," Cato whispered, "Sometimes love isn't enough to salvage what cant be fixed. Things break and they can't be put back together…" He sighed and moved forward to press a button for the level he wanted. The doors began to close. "We're at war. Let's just focus on that."

Then the elevator doors closed and Cato was cut from view. Peeta started breathing rapidly. Cato is the man of my dreams, and together we can't make it through anything… A few people had stopped to stare. He hadn't realized the commotion they made. There wasn't enough air. He feared he was going to suffocate. He needed to do something, anything—escape before it all caught up with him. He turned on his heel and ran down the hallway, ducking and weaving through all the people. Someone shouted at him to slow down, but he couldn't. That was the last thing he needed to do. If he slowed down then it might catch him and everything would be lost.

At the end of the wide hall and to the right Peeta went through the first door he could find. It was marked for target practice, but once inside he found it was empty. Well almost save for the last stall at the end where a familiar spike haired brunette stood with a wide stance, gun straight out from her chest, and unloaded a full clip into the human shaped target.

The cracks of the gun spit out in quick succession and reverberated around the room. Peeta flinched with each sound, reminded of the few times he'd been witness to the destructive force of a gun: Darius; the sound of the gunfire that ended Riece's life. He turned to leave when Johanna called out.

"Come to sharpen your aim or blow off some steam?"

Peeta slowly turned around. Johanna moved to the workbench that lined the back of the wall and reloaded her gun. A variety of other guns were splayed out on the bench to choose from as well. Some machine was called forward to replace the target with the press of a button. The bullet riddled sheet switched out for a clean paper target.

"I prefer the handgun. The full weight of it in my palm, the cool steel of the shaft," She stroked it delicately with the tip of one finger; across and back. It was almost sensual. "Besides you can maneuver much easier with this than with some semi-automatic strapped over your shoulder."

Johanna moved back to the stall and kicked up, her foot connecting in the air with an invisible head before she fired off two more shots at the target—one bullet to the head, the other to the heart.

"C'mon. Have a try." Johanna urged, holding out the gun for Peeta to take. There was a smile on her face but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Peeta hesitated before deciding he might as well learn how to use one. A bow and arrow would only get him so far in a gunfight. And he knew there would be plenty soon. "You're ex sure hasn't been missing out on the chance to train. You'd think he was planning to take on the whole of the Capitol by himself."

"What do you mean?" Peeta asked, perplexed as he took the handle of the gun from Johanna cautiously. It was odd how cold the steel was even after having been held in Johanna's hands and fired. He'd never held a gun before and the weight of it was awkward in his hands.

"He's usually in one of the training rooms doing his own little thing while Thirteen trains its obedient little soldiers. Now come over here, wide stance," Johanna guided Peeta forcefully with her hands on his shoulders into the stall, kicking his legs apart with one of hers. "Raise it shoulder height. That's it. And if it's your first time like I assume it is, it's best to use both hands. There'll be a kickback."

"So he comes down here a lot then?"

"Hmm?" Johanna looked up at Peeta from observing his posture critically from the side. "Oh yeah, I'm surprised he's not here now. You'd think he lived here with the amount of time he spends here. Usually wailing on someone or something until it breaks. One of the staff sergeants tried to recruit him to her training class—I don't think she knew whom she was talking to. Needless to say it didn't go well for her. He doesn't seem the type to work well with others in a group or take orders. But who am I to judge? I hate team play." She stepped forward again and adjusted his aim. "Now brace your feet for the blowback and don't hesitate when pulling the trigger."

So that explained why he seemed to be bulking back up and the bruises on his knuckles. He was spending all his free time here. Peeta wondered what he envisioned as he worked out or used the target practice. Was he exorcising demons or was it Peeta's face on the punching bag, Gale's on the target?

The gun was heavy in his palms. They felt sweaty and hot, but the metal stayed cool against his skin. He pulled his index finger against the trigger. It had a stronger resistance than he expected. He pulled harder and suddenly the gun fired with a loud crack. He didn't expect it and was stumbled backwards. Johanna laughed. He looked up and saw he missed the target completely.

"Breath out as you fire. Try again."

Breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth Peeta envisioned the faces of all his enemies on the head of the target—dead and alive. Stasson and Asasia, Enobaria and Dreg, President Snow. Then he fired. The bullet hit dead center in the head of the target. Johanna whistled appreciatively.

"Damn that was hot. C'mon lets go grab some food, I'm fuckin starved."

They rode up to the second floor where the cafeteria was. They were just below the surface where the loading bays with all the machinations of war launched. Peeta was glad to see Johanna had mostly returned to her old self after the medical team woke her. She had suffered severe internal injures from the mutts and Asasia. He had a feeling if there was anything she agonized over it was the fact that she didn't get to kill the bitch herself. Peeta was happy to have that honor though. Then he realized he was happy to have killed and felt his appetite quickly dissipate.

The line for food wasn't too long yet. The food itself was nothing to brag about, bland and barely appetizing, but it had to suffice. Johanna ladled a hefty portion of some grey goop similar to oatmeal—he didn't want to know what it was—and when one of the cooks gave her shit she silenced him with a withering look. They had strict rationing rules, but Johanna could give just about anyone pause.

"Like I need some idiot telling me how much fucking cow manure I'm allowed to eat," Johanna griped as they looked for seats at one of the long narrow tables jammed throughout the cafeteria. Peeta laughed and it felt good to feel a genuine smile on his face. Johanna was a pretty great distraction from his misery.

They found a spot in the corner where Finnick was eating with Primrose. Peeta was shocked to find a huge smile planted on his face and his sea green eyes shinning bright with mirth. Even Prim was upbeat today. Then he noticed a woman seated next to Finnick he'd never met before. She was hauntingly beautiful with green eyes as bright as Finnick's and flowing brown hair, but somewhat unkempt. When they took seats opposing her and Finnick her eyes flicked to Peeta and there seemed to be something missing behind her eyes.

"Oh Peeta, good! I'd like to introduce you to Annie Cresta." Finnick threw an arm around the woman and it all clicked into place when she spoke.

"Hello Peeta," Annie stretched out a hand across the table to shake his. Her shirt fell into the mush on her plate, but she didn't notice. "It's very nice to make your acquaintance."

Annie Cresta was the voice he heard in the jabberjay's section. Annie Cresta was also a victor of the 70th Hunger Games. But the remaining victors had been sentenced to death. She should be dead. It explained why Finnick had seemed so broken the past week. He thought she was dead. Peeta shook her delicate hand. She laughed pleasantly to herself, over what he wasn't sure.

"As it is mine, Annie. I think I speak for everyone when I say we sure are glad you're here."

Finnick smiled brightly, fiddling to wipe the slop from Annie's shirt for her. Prim smiled and watched him fondly, sighing to herself something about true love. Peeta's smile faltered.

"How'd she get here?" Johanna asked.

"She only arrived this morning. Apparently a group of rebels commandeered a ship and smuggled her out with a few other victors before…" Finnick paused and leaned away from Annie to whisper, "Before the execution squad was dispatched."

Peeta briefly thought of the execution squad being dispatched to Victors Row in District Two. Cato's family…

"It really is awful," Annie supplied. Peeta was inclined to agree with her, but she happened to be talking about something else. "I don't like boats. They make me sick."

"I've never been on a boat." Peeta said.

"What?" Annie asked incredulous; eyes wide. "Well I wouldn't recommend it. Dreadful."

"He doesn't have boats where he comes from." Finnick told her, laughing at her look of disbelief. "And they're not that bad. She's just prone to seasickness."

Peeta had no idea what they were referring to, but he had a feeling he wouldn't like being at sea on a boat either. Especially with his limited swimming ability. Peeta picked at his food and watched as Finnick doted on Annie. He really did love her completely, despite whatever afflicted her mind. Peeta had a feeling she had never fully recovered after returning from the games. She got these vacant looks during the remainder of lunch, disappearing in her mind or laughing at nothing at all.

Their radiant happiness eventually cast a shadow over Peeta's mood. Their relationship worked, despite obvious faults. Finnick had been forced into prostitution by the Capitol and used his sexuality as a weapon, while Annie, a shell of her former self, was broken by the trauma induced by the Capitol. And yet they worked. It seemed so effortless.

Not wanting to let his fouling mood disturb the others he pushed away from the table and excused himself. He deposited the tray at the proper receptacle—everything was vigorously recycled and re-used here, even the food Peeta wagered.

With his head bowed Peeta walked out of the cafeteria. And so he didn't see him approaching until he was standing right before Peeta.

"Ahem," Gale cleared his throat and Peeta looked up startled from his thoughts. "Hey there…"

"Oh—hey."

They stood awkwardly in the middle of the doorway staring at each other. Gale wore a military uniform. Peeta hadn't realized he'd joined up with District Thirteen's army. He wasn't sure he liked it. Gale reached out to touch Peeta, but at the last minute he diverted the hand to scratch at the back of his neck when Peeta flinched back.

"Can—uh, can we talk?"

It seemed time had run out on Peeta and he could no longer keep dodging him. He realized he was probably doing the same thing to Gale what Cato had done to him and knowing how unfair that was he relented and nodded his head. Gale motioned with a hand towards one of the benches along the wall in the wide corridor that lead to the cafeteria. It was as good of a place as any and Peeta didn't mind the fact that it carried a lot of foot traffic.

They sat together on the uncomfortable metal bench; Peeta's back was stalk straight with his hands planted firmly on either side of his body holding him up. Gale's fingers were dangerously close to his. The movement of a pinky would bring them to touch. He could feel the warmth coming off Gale and wanted nothing more than to lean into it—to be enveloped in his strong arms and let the comfort of his being enfold Peeta in a blanket of peace. But he pushed back against the urge, scolding himself for being of such weak will.

"So, you wanted to talk…" Peeta prodded when Gale said nothing. His brows were deeply furrowed, his bottom lip jutted out giving his handsome face a striking resemblance to a child's pout. It cleared when Peeta spoke and his dark blue eyes found Peeta's.

"You've been avoiding me."

"I know."

"And…"

"And what?" Peeta asked with a shrug.

"That's all you have to say? You fought Cato tooth and nail when he didn't want to speak to you on the beach, yet you wont give the same courtesy to me?"

Gale glowered and it was a harsher stare than before, no cute child-like quality to it. Peeta couldn't take his mind off the hand that was centimeters from touching his. It was like his whole being was concentrated there. It had been so long since he'd been near Gale he forgot what it was like, the sharp need.

"What do you want me to do? We never had a relationship." Peeta's heart stuttered and his cheeks heated. Gale's eyes narrowed coolly and his hand drew away from Peeta's on the bench. Peeta's back collapsed against the wall.

"That's a bold-faced lie." Gale huffed out a jarring laugh. "I don't know what you call those months before the reaping, but I sure as hell wouldn't classify it as just a friendship. There was more to it than that and you know it."

"I don't know what I know, Gale." Peeta was starting to regret having this conversation out in the open, much like he did with Cato. What did Gale want from him? Why was he doing this to him? "You hate me one minute, save my life the next, act like my friend and then kiss me. It's more than confusing it's infuriating. Are you even gay?"

"What does that have to do with anything? Is that some requirement to be in love with you?"

Peeta recoiled at that word: love. Gale didn't know what he was saying.

"You don't mean that."

"Yes I do!" Gale bit out. "You have no idea what I feel for you, but I wish you'd let me show you. Make you believe. You ran away that morning before we could even talk about it. Do you even know what that did to me? Did you even care? And then you went and volunteered yourself, just like I asked you not to!"

Oh god, he's right. I never thought about him in all of that. I couldn't, not after that night…

"I couldn't talk to you though!" Peeta gasped out like he was coming up for air. "I woke that morning and everything hit me. The weight of what I'd done. I felt like the smallest, worst person in the world. Like I had not only betrayed Cato but all of Panem and I knew couldn't face you too."

"Not what you did, what we did." Gale slid towards Peeta suddenly and gripped both of Peeta's hands. Peeta's whole body froze up at the contact. It was too much. It was too much.

"If you had stayed. If you had let me convince you it was just as much my responsibility," Gale shook Peeta's hands in his as he implored him to listen. "That I wanted it as much as you did—if not more. That it was real and that it wasn't wrong. That it didn't—it doesn't make you a horrible person, then maybe you'd believe me when I say I love you."

Gale's deep blue eyes were never ending as Peeta stared into them. He felt like he could just be swept away by them. He wanted to believe him, he really did, but he just couldn't.

"You never loved me," Peeta spoke softly, pulling his hands free from Gale, the words so heavy they fell from his lips like ten ton bricks, smashing up the very ground he stood on. He didn't know where sturdy ground stood anymore. "You loved Katniss and it was wrong of me to play along. You were so confused and broken after she died, as was I. And then we found a safety line in each other and fell into that unable to let go or see clearly. You lost Katniss and thought you found her again in me, but that's not how this works. I'm not her. I'm so far from ever being her…" Beetee's words from his nightmare played over in his head. There was so much to atone for.

"Stop telling me how I feel!" Gale's face flushed as he grew angry. "I'm tired of you making up your mind about what I feel when you refuse to even hear me out. I may have been confused, but it's because I've never loved a guy before. So what if I don't know what that means. Is that so bad? Do I have to label it? I love you. It was an adjustment at first, sure, but when I realized after the Quarter Quell announcement that I didn't want to lose you it became a nonfactor. Not when I realized how important you were to me, to my sanity, my happiness, my—my everything! And you can't stand here and deny you feel nothing for me in return."

Suddenly Gale lunged forward, gripping Peeta's face hard between his hands and pulling him into a hard kiss. Peeta was caught off guard and let it happen before getting his bearings and shoving at Gale's chest, breaking the chaste kiss. Peeta stood abruptly, touching his hand to his lips. Someone almost ran into Peeta and he was forced to move back in closer to the bench. That was more than unfair of Gale. And so he grabbed for anything he could, anything to fight it.

"And what of Madge? You two were good."

Gale's face registered confusion and then dawning surprise. He must not have realized Peeta noticed the thing that was going on between them, but he did. Madge wouldn't just lie to Romulus and then show up distraught on the Everdeen's doorstep with morphling for anyone.

"I—yes we had something, but it wasn't serious and ended long before you and I. Besides, she's dead now."

It was such a simple statement, but with those words it was all done. Peeta couldn't find the energy anymore to fight it. More people were rushing by them as they talked at the bench in the corridor. People were starting to leave the cafeteria in waves, buzzing loudly. Peeta had to raise his voice to be heard over the noise.

"And that's why this can't be." Not with Cato, not with Gale. They didn't know, but they would. "I don't get a happy ending because I'm the Mockingjay and this is more than a petty love triangle. People are dying. This is war."

Someone's shoulder bumped into Peeta and he finally became aware of what was happening around him. Everyone was flooding out of the cafeteria. He looked around confused and Gale stood with him, taking in the scene before them. He stopped a young woman and asked her what was going on.

Something's happening in the entry bay was all she said before she was swept away in the crowd. They looked at each other awkwardly, the conversation still looming over their heads.

"I'm not giving up on this."

"You do that."

Peeta stepped into the current of people and let them carry him away. Everyone headed towards the stairwell and marched up. There were too many of them to use the elevators and besides it was only one flight up. Peeta's mind was reeling with all the things Gale had said. It just didn't seem to fit. He couldn't really feel that way. Peeta had spent so much time convincing himself Gale was straight, it was a one-off and that he was the shittiest person ever for cheating on Cato that he never thought his feelings could have been genuinely returned. But none of it mattered now anyways. Not with what was coming. Not when his mind was riddled with violence and his body a traitor.

Reaching the first floor the room opened up into a vast loading bay with massive two story doors opened at the opposing end. There was a large crowd of people at the entrance to the bay. They were grime covered and weak looking, but all of varying ages and sizes. Two groups of army men and women contained them from entering further into the District Thirteen facilities. Peeta felt an odd sensation in his stomach. He was too far away to make out any features on the people. But the people who had got here first were finally reaching them and cheers started to erupt. Peeta felt an urgency build along with a tingling sensation in his stomach. He started pushing past people, ignoring their grumblings, standing on his toes to try and get a better look over all the heads.

Then Peeta caught site of a familiar wide-set man with dimpled cheeks and his stomach dropped out from beneath him. He never thought he'd see that face again, especially after the destruction of District Twelve. It wasn't possible, and yet there he was in tattered and grimy clothing, his face severely exhausted. It was Peeta's father, talking to some higher-up in the army emphatically.

"Father?" Peeta said to himself in disbelief. Then he said it louder. "Father!"

Peeta ran and shoved the remaining way through the crowd, crying out for his dad. His weary eyes cast out on the sea of people before him before settling on Peeta as he burst his way through the crowd. His father stopped talking to the army woman and his dulled blue eyes suddenly lit alive as he hustled towards Peeta. Two guards immediately stepped forward with guns trained on his father.

"No! Put your guns down!" Peeta shouted, throwing himself between their guns and his father. "Put—your—guns—down, damn it! This is my father!"

They looked at Peeta confused before staring at their superior who nodded and then they finally lowered their guns. Taking a gulp of air Peeta finally turned to face his dad. He looked haggard and worn out. It was impossible that he was here and yet he was. He took that final step forward and latched his arms around the girth of his father, pulling him in to a tight hug. Relief flooded Peeta's system like much needed medicine. He hadn't realized how much he needed a parent until that very moment. There was something about family. He never knew how important it was until he started creating his own family of choice—Cato, Prim, Mrs. Everdeen, Gale—but one bound by blood gave a new dimension to the meaning that he didn't quite understand. He just knew he needed it.

His father clutched him back just as intensely and his chest shook with laughs mixed with choked back sobs.

"I—I didn't know if you were alive. I hoped, prayed. But…" His father pulled back to take a look at Peeta. Peeta felt warm tears welling in his eyes too. It was unbelievable and yet just what he needed at the moment a spark of light in the never-ending night.

"How are you here? Who all is with you?" Peeta asked incredulously.

"I figured out it was District Thirteen backing the rebels. I knew there would come a time when we might need to flee our district and then I saw what happened in the Quarter Quell. It looked like you blew everything up." He shook his head disbelievingly. "I knew they'd strike back for your actions. So I gathered everyone I could as quickly as possible and lead them out of the District. We—we watched from the mountains as the bombs rained down… it was pure destruction. But you're alive and here. How?"

"District Thirteen. They saved us after I destroyed the force field."

Peeta, still griping his both of his dad's arms, looked around and noticed Mrs. Everdeen standing off to the side looking on with fond eyes at their reunion. Behind her a little ways stood Mrs. Hawthorne, Posy clutched in her arms, the rest of her children hanging on to her dress somewhat nervously. He searched for his brothers, even his mom, but they were no were to be seen. He knew deep down what had happened, he didn't need to ask. His father had suffered enough. Suddenly there was a screech and Peeta turned expecting bad news. Instead he saw Primrose dart from between two men towards her mother, pure happiness on her face. Then Gale stepped out from the crowd with a stunned look. His little brothers shouted and whooped as they detached from Hazelle and sprinted towards their big brother. Peeta took a step back from his father and just watched the happy reunions that were taking place before him. He soaked in all the good he could get; it wasn't too often they got these moments—little moments of triumph. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all. Maybe there was a chance.

A new feeling arose in Peeta's chest. It was displacing all the other dark and tragic feelings he'd been consumed by in the past few months. It might not stay, the dark always found its way back, but for now it was enough. It was light and effervescent. It made him feel weightless and like the world wasn't so bad after all. It brought a smile to his face as Prim was kissed and coddled by her mother, as Gale swung his little brothers around on his arms and laughed joyously while Hazelle cried happy tears, Posy chanting Gale's name.

It was hope.

It was what this rebellion was worth fighting for.

What? A happy ending you say? Who am I? Well I thought we could use some good news (especially Peeta) at this precise moment before the inevitable end. What do you think?

xoxo,

crobb07